Valentines
by Aloemilk
Summary: Four Valentine's Days in Ron and Hermione's lives. Rated T only for mention of future activities.


**Feb. 14, 1996**

Ron didn't want to admit it, but there was _one_ thing to be grateful for in Umbridge's reign—she had forbidden Valentine's celebrations. He just _hated_ Valentine's Day. It was just an excuse couples used to sneak around saying annoying, overly corny things to each other. Then, as soon as Valentine's was over, the corny things were over but the sneaking around continued and, really, then why pretend that corny was needed when all everyone wanted was the sneaking around part of it?

If he ever got a girlfriend, he didn't think he could stand it if she liked corny things. Ron Weasley didn't do corny. Obviously, that meant his bird couldn't be corny. She should also find him funny, and be clever enough that he found her interesting, and it should be someone he could talk to because, even if most people didn't know it, he liked to talk about things, sometimes.

If anything, that's what he thought was the most difficult part. He didn't think it was easy to talk to girls. Really, the only girl outside of his family that he could talk to was Hermione. She was also clever, didn't do corny, and he thought she found him funny. At least she did when she took a break from being worried. Ron smiled; if he could find a girl just like Hermione then he could count himself lucky. The only reason why he didn't like Hermione herself was because... well, the problem with Hermione was... Hermione...

 _Oh._

 _Oh, shit!_

He straightened in his seat, paranoid, looking around to detect if someone had been practicing legilimency on him. Nobody could ever know what he had just realised. Most of all, Hermione couldn't know. He wished _he_ didn't know. Whatever it was that he was feeling for his friend was dangerous, meant to be a secret, until he could figure out what to do about it.

At least, there were no hearts and other corny things to influence his feelings for Hermione...

 _Fucking thanks, Umbridge!_

 **Feb. 14, 1997**

Hermione _hated_ Valentine's Day. Not only was it unnecessarily over the top, but it felt incredibly fake. What was the point of being with someone if you were going to show them your love only once a year? If you were with someone, you had to be nice to them and considerate all the time. Or at least, that's what she imagined; it wasn't like she had had the chance to experience such things. If she were to be honest, though, she knew Valentine's bothered her in part because it was an obvious reminder that she was alone.

Well, no, that wasn't completely accurate. It wasn't only that she was alone, but that the person she wanted to be with was with someone else. It was repulsive to see him with her on any other day, and, she had just found, Valentine's only made it worse.

The other part of it was still true; she despised the cynicism of the day. Above all, though, her bitterness today was all about a certain tall, redheaded, infuriating boy. She dearly wished that all the hearts and corny things surrounding her didn't make her wish she was with him, if not to celebrate, then to laugh together at the stupidity of it all.

 **Feb. 14, 1998**

Hermione hid behind one of her books, using it as a shield so she wouldn't have to interact with either Ron or Harry. She pretended to read but she was really lost in her thoughts, fuming—how could she not? Ron was back and she was _furious_ at him. Furious that he had left, furious that he was back, and furious that it had been her voice that had led him to where they were.

Really, he wouldn't dare to expect her to be _happy_ about his return, would he? He could _not_ possibly expect her to forget about everything and forgive him, and most of all—

A forced cough distracted her. She automatically lowered her book, stealing a quick glance to see Ron standing in front of her, a shy look on his face, before she lifted the book again to hide behind it once more.

She was _not_ going to acknowledge his presence. He could stand there and wait for hours for all she cared. He—

From the corner of her eye, she saw him set a wildflower to her side, on the chair's armrest. Hermione pretended not to notice, but she couldn't help but wonder at it.

"I know you hate me, and you're right to do so. I just thought... well, I was hoping... shit, sorry, just— happy Valentine's, Hermione."

She froze in her place, her senses hyperaware and alert. She heard him walk away and it wasn't until much later that she felt ready to look at the flower, its petals tender and soft.

She didn't allow herself to think much of it; she was still angry at him, after all.

Even so, she couldn't help but to gently pick up the flower and press it between the pages of her book, because as mad as she was, she knew chances were one day she would want to look back at her first, and maybe only, real Valentine's gift from him.

 **Feb. 14, 2016**

Even though they had talked about sleeping in that day, the long years of parenthood and adult responsibilities woke them up at 8:30am. Still, they cuddled together in the warmth of their bed, waiting until they heard their children bickering on their way to the kitchen for breakfast.

"We've been together for almost nineteen years, love. It would be weird to make a big deal out of Valentine's now, wouldn't it?" Ron asked, his voice still coarse from sleep.

"I think so," she replied in very much the same way. "I still don't care much for it. Do you, now?"

"Nah," he dismissed, nuzzling her neck. "I don't. I still feel like I should check with you, though, because if you cared about it, then I wouldn't want to disappoint you too much."

"You've been in my mind every day since I realised I wanted to be with you, Ron," she argued. "I don't need a marketed day to do something special about it."

"I discovered I liked you on a Valentine's day. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, you didn't," she replied. "For me, when I think of our Valentine's together, I think of that time you gave me a flower, during the hunt. I hadn't even realised what date it was, and I was furious with you. You had no reason to wish me a happy Valentine's day, but you did anyway, with no expectations."

He chuckled at the memory. "I did have expectations. I expected you to hex me for it."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know. Maybe I knew too well I might never get a chance to do it properly. Which is kind of ironic, since I don't think I ever did."

"Well, I remember a Valentine's day when I thought about the whole thing and decided all I wanted was to simply acknowledge it and complain about it together. That's exactly what I got, so I'm happy."

They heard Rose waking up Hugo and how she said they should go down and start breakfast. Their cuddling was coming to an end.

"If nothing else, if we hadn't been together all this time and gone through many things together; if I didn't have any of that, this alone would show me how perfect you are for me. Seriously, how perfect is it that neither of us wants to make a fuss of it?"

She rose and kissed him on the forehead, deciding it was time to join their children at the kitchen.

"I know," she commented, and turned around to wink at him. "Still doesn't mean we can't celebrate on our own way; we just need to tell the kids that we're going to take a nap, later today."

"I knew I married you for a reason" Ron exclaimed, sitting up on the bed and reaching with one hand to his bedside table. "I hope you're not too disappointed that I did get you a little something," he cheeked.

"Ron!"

"Well, it's edible body paint. We evidently were thinking about the same thing for our _nap_... Happy Valentine's day, love."


End file.
